Weevils in Miami
by Anyankaholic
Summary: When Michael gets attacked by a weevil, he's perplexed to say the least. Luckily, he knows a former Torchwood agent.
1. A Late Night Call

Disclaimer: I own neither "Burn Notice" nor "Torchwood" … unfortunately.

AN: This story takes place sometime in season 4 for "Burn Notice" and sometime in season 2 for "Torchwood," although there are some references to knowledge we gain in "Children of Earth."

Weevils in Miami

A Late-Night Call

"I'm fine, Fi!"

Madeleine jolted awake. Nothing woke a mother up like hearing her son yell out when he was clearly in pain. Glancing at her alarm clock, she couldn't help but roll her eyes. Why did Michael and his friends always have to come by her house in the middle of the night? Padding into the living room, she was greeted with a rather unpleasant sight.

Michael was sitting on her couch, shirtless and bleeding, while Fiona did her best to patch up the resisting patient.

"What the hell happened?" asked a peeved Madeleine, already lighting a cigarette.

Michael, Sam, and Fiona all turned around, both surprised to see Madeleine standing there and guilty at being caught holing up in her house … again.

"It's nothing, Madeleine," lied Fiona with a placating expression on her face.

"Nothing? Then why are you bandaging up my son?" asked a distressed Madeleine, allowing her voice to get louder and louder. "I think I have proven that I can be trusted. Now tell me what is going on."

"Alright, Maddie, calm down," soothed Sam. "You see, we were trying to help this guy. He got conned out of a lot of money—money he needs for his sick wife. So, we decided to con the guy who conned him and get him his money back."

"So, how did Michael get hurt?" asked Madeleine.

"I'm getting to that," said Sam. "Well, the guy's security guards are brutes."

"Yeah," said Michael, finally jumping into the conversation.

He continued, "He had two teams of security guards. The first team was fairly easy to take out, but the second team … well … they were a bit harder."

"Harder, how?" asked Madeleine, getting into the stride of an interrogator.

"We shot them and they didn't go down," said Michael, truthfully. "I guess they were wearing some kind of Kevlar that we couldn't see."

"And their faces were really weird," continued Fiona. "Like, maybe they were burned by acid or something. They had no hair."

"The hair is what you're focusing on?" asked Sam disbelievingly. "What about their teeth?"

"What do you mean?" asked Fiona.

"Did you see those things?" continued Sam. "They were huge … and sharp. They bit Mikey."

"No," said Michael forcefully. "It just seemed like they bit me. Teeth couldn't do this kind of damage—not unless they were some kind of animals. They had to have had weapons hidden that we couldn't see."

"Well, let's see that picture," demanded Sam.

"What picture?" asked Michael and Fiona at the same time, Mike questioningly and Fiona feigning innocence.

"Come off it, sister," said Sam. "I saw you snap that picture on your phone as we were leaving."

Fiona reluctantly pulled out her phone, as if she were regretting having ever taken the picture—evidence of the unusual can have that effect on people. She believed that some things were best forgotten or rationalized. And clearly from his explanations, Michael agreed.

Looking at Fiona's picture, Sam exclaimed, "Look at those teeth!"

"Hand it over," said Madeleine, holding out her hand and wearing a no-nonsense expression on her face.

Fiona reluctantly handed it over, positive that Madeleine would go ballistic seeing the unreal creature that her son had grappled with. Instead though, Madeleine simply looked thoughtful as she gazed at the picture. Finally, after nearly 30 seconds of awkward silence as Madeleine studied the picture and the others studied her to see her reaction, Madeleine nodded once and handed the phone back to Fiona.

"I need to make a phone call," announce Madeleine unexpectedly.

"Who are you going to call?" asked Sam, incredulously. "Not some tabloid, right Maddie?"

"No," she replied curtly. "I'm going to call someone who knows how to deal with these kinds of things."

"Who would that be exactly?" asked Michael.

"Captain Jack Harkness," replied Madeleine, before leaving the room in search of a phone.

The remaining three looked at each other confusedly, before getting up in complete unison to follow Madeleine to the other room.

"Hello," said Madeleine into the phone, "I need to speak with Captain Jack Harkness … Tell him it's Madeleine Weston on the phone. No, wait; tell him Madeleine Taylor, my maiden name … Hello, Jack? … It's Maddie, I have a problem … No, Michael's fine. Well, if you call just being attacked by a weevil fine … No, I told you, he's alright. He was bitten but it's already stopped bleeding … I need you to come to Miami and deal with this … Well, I don't care how busy you are; you owe me … If you won't do it for me, do it for Michael … I know what I said … Will you come or not? … Fine, thank you, bye." With that, Madeleine hung up the phone and turned to look at her perplexed son and his perplexed friends.

Sighing, she lit herself another cigarette and sat down to tell Michael a very long and complicated story.

"Jack," called Ianto, clear across the Hub.

"Yeah," the captain called back, worried that Ianto was about to yell at him for being behind in his paperwork … again.

"There is a woman on the phone for you—a Madeleine Taylor."

Shocked, Jack called back, "I'll take it in my office."

"Very well, sir."

Nervously, Jack picked up the receiver and his breath hitched when he said "hello."

"Hello, Jack?" asked a voice he hadn't heard in years.

"Yeah," he answered, in little more than a whisper. Just hearing her voice, though much huskier than it used to be, probably due to smoking he thought wryly, brought back memories. He could remember sitting in the Hub with her, years ago, before he had been in charge, teaching her how to blow smoke rings and getting yelled at by their boss. He could remember going blue in the face trying to get information out of stubborn people and, just when he had given up, Madeleine would waltz over and within five minutes have everything he had wanted and more. He could also remember some not-so-appropriate activities that had been done in the privacy of the archives with a lot less clothing than was standard in the Hub.

"It's Maddie," she replied, as if he didn't already know. "I have a problem."

"What's wrong?" he asked, immediately concerned. "Is it Michael? Is he alright?"

"No, Michael's fine. Well, if you call just being attacked by a weevil fine."

"I thought you said he was fine?" he asked panicking. "Weevils are incredibly dangerous, as I'm sure you remember. Is he badly hurt?"

"No, I told you, he's alright. He was bitten but it's already stopped bleeding."

"If Michael's alright, then why are you calling me?" he asked, reigning in his terror.

"I need you to come to Miami and deal with this."

As much as he loved his Madeleine, and would always love her, Jack was suddenly terrified by the idea of seeing her. It had been so many years. Of course there had been the good times, but there had also been the bad times and those had stung him deeply. Looking for an excuse, any excuse, he blurted out, "I can't come. I'm busy—rift stuff."

"Well, I don't care how busy you are; you owe me."

"I owe you?" he asked, going from scared to angry in one second flat. "I owe you?" he scoffed. "I seem to remember you being the one who left. You were the one who broke my heart, not the other way around. I don't owe you anything, Maddie."

"If you won't do it for me, do it for Michael."

That just wasn't fair. "I thought you said you didn't want me in our son's life."

"I know what I said."

Before she could say any more, Jack continued, "You took him away, Maddie—to America. You never let me see him. And before you say it, I know, I was married and Alice was a baby. But you knew that when we started dating. I wanted to be there for you, Maddie. Why wouldn't you let me be there for you?"

There was a long pause and then Madeleine said, "Will you come or not?"

Sighing heavily, Jack replied, "Yeah, I'll be there."

"Fine, thank you, bye," said Madeleine curtly.

By the time Jack said "goodbye," Madeleine had already hung up.

TBC

If you liked it, please review.


	2. Madeleine's Past

Disclaimer: I own neither "Burn Notice" nor "Torchwood" … unfortunately.

AN: This story takes place sometime in season 4 for "Burn Notice" and sometime in season 2 for "Torchwood," although there are some references to knowledge we gain in "Children of Earth."

Weevils in Miami

Madeleine's Past

"What?" asked Mike, flabbergasted. "You just called my _father_? My _father_? But not the man who used to beat the crap out of me when I was kid and not the man who is Nate's father? _My _father?"

"Sit down and stop pacing," ordered Madeleine, lighting yet another cigarette. "I lied to you to protect you."

"From what?" asked Michael, growing calmer yet retaining that manic glint in his eyes. He honestly wanted to understand what his mother was protecting him from that could be worse than an abusive father.

"OK, maybe I should have started from the beginning and not just jumped right in," said Madeleine, with a look on her face that clearly said that she didn't understand why everyone was getting so upset. So what that she had just told Michael that she had lied to him all these years about who his father was? It was nothing like the agony he put her through when he joined the army and never told her where he was or what he was doing. At least she was always there for him.

"The beginning is usually a good place to start, Maddie," said Sam, opening a beer. If the start of the night was any indication, he would need many more as the night progressed.

"Your father's name is Captain Jack Harkness," stated Madeleine. "He is a captain in the RAF."

Taking advantage of Madeleine's cigarette pause, Fiona asked, "Which royal air force? A lot of countries have royal air forces."

"The United Kingdom's," continued Madeleine. "When we met, Jack was a senior agent at Torchwood—don't interrupt me—and I was a new recruit. Torchwood is an institute that was created by Queen Victoria in the 1800s to fight aliens and scavenge their technologies—I said, don't interrupt me. Anyway, I was a young, naïve new agent and Jack took it upon himself to teach me the ropes. Oh, he was a romantic. The first time I met him, I thought I was going to faint. I was overwhelmed. I liked to say that it was love at first sight. He liked to say that it was his pheromones.—What Michael?"

Finally taking his opportunity to ask some questions, Michael let them out in a tangled up heap, "You were an agent? At an alien-fighting agency? In the UK? Were what attacked me aliens? Is that why you called him? Does he still work there? And … pheromones?"

"Breathe, honey," coached Madeleine. "Let's see: Yes, I was an agent. Yes, at an alien-fighting agency. Yes, in the UK; Wales to be precise. You were attacked by aliens called weevils. Jack still works for Torchwood and that is why I called him. And he emitted 51st century pheromones that he probably scavenged when they fell through the rift. Was that everything?"

"Yeah," answered Mike slowly, still incredibly confused. Rift?

"Good," she continued, "well, we naturally began an affair. I knew he was married but I didn't care. I was young and stupid. Anyway, when I got pregnant, I quit Torchwood and moved here."

"Why did you marry Dad then?" asked Michael, suddenly feeling bad for yelling at his mother. He was overcome with sympathy for the chain-smoking woman sitting in front of him. She had been pregnant and alone after his biological father had abandoned her for his wife.

"I wanted you to have a father and I wanted a normal life," answered Madeleine.

"And my father wouldn't give you that," said Michael, more as a statement than a question. "He didn't want to deal with a pregnant girlfriend when he was married." Michael felt incredibly sad but was slightly uplifted when he felt Fiona's small hand slip inside his.

"Oh, no, Michael," said Madeleine, seeing how dejected her son was. "Jack wanted to do right by us; I wouldn't let him."

"What?" asked Michael, his hanging head suddenly snapping up.

"Please try to understand. I couldn't let him ruin what he had with his wife. She had just had a daughter, Alice, and I didn't want to destroy that. Also, staying would have put us in danger. Torchwood is dangerous. I was scared that being close to Jack would put you in danger."

"So, he didn't abandon you?" asked Fiona, taking over for the speechless Michael.

"No," answered Madeleine, softly. "He wanted to be Michael's father but I told him 'no.' I moved here and that was that. I told him to stay away."

"That doesn't change the fact that he never did anything for us," said Michael, very unsure but not wanting to let go of this newfound anger so quickly.

"He did a lot for us," said his mother. "He let me keep my memories. When I left Torchwood, he was supposed to Retcon me, but he didn't." Seeing the confused faces looking at her, she explained, "Retcon is a drug that Torchwood uses to wipe people's memories."

Michael suddenly couldn't see. He just needed to get out of there and get somewhere cool. Damn this Miami heat! He stood up and staggered to the door, needing to be anywhere but there. He wasn't naïve and melodramatic enough to lament that his entire life had been a lie; it hadn't and he knew that. He was still Michael Weston, ex-spy. He still had his mom, Fiona, and Sam. Hell, he even still had Nate. Despite knowing intellectually that this didn't change anything, he couldn't help but feel betrayed and as if his world were crashing down around his ears. Things that he had believed to be inflexible truths in this world had just turned out to be lies and shadows. Aliens were real. His mother was once an agent, something similar to his line of work. His father wasn't really his father. Instead his father lived in Wales and fought aliens for a living. It was too much. He had just made it to the door when he felt his legs weaken. Just as he began to fall he felt strong arms encircle his body. It must be Sam. Sam was dragging him back to the couch. He could hear his mother and Fiona speaking. He could tell that they were concerned but he could no longer make out the words. Their words were just a gentle shooshing noise in his ears and he couldn't even see them anymore. His world was spinning and he felt like he was about to vomit.

"What's wrong with him?" cried out a distressed Fiona.

"The weevil must have been carrying some germ that it transferred to Michael when it bit him. His body can't handle it," responded Madeleine, laying a hand on Michael's forehead and trying not to cry. Even after being a Torchwood agent and seeing things that no person should see, she still got all weepy whenever someone she loved got hurt.

"You ever see anything like this before, Maddie?" asked Sam. "You know, back when you were an agent?"

"No," admitted Madeleine. "I never saw someone survive a weevil attack long enough to get sick."

"So, what do we do?" asked Fiona, beginning to panic. Being in the IRA taught her to suppress her emotions when necessary but being with Michael had made her want to feel more like a normal girl and, because of that, she was not as in control of her emotions as she would have liked to have been.

"We need to wait for Jack to get here," said Madeleine. "He'll know what to do."

Jack could not believe that he was sitting in an airport. Just sitting. His son had been attacked by a weevil and he was sitting and doing nothing. Why couldn't he just skip the whole plane ride and already be in Miami, be with his son?

Getting out of the Hub had been difficult. He closed his eyes, remembering the arguments from just a short time ago:

"Where are you going?" asked Gwen, always with her eye on the bloody door.

"I'm taking a trip," said Jack, not really feeling like delving into the entire thing just at the moment. He had to curb his urge to rush out the door; he knew that the earlier he got to the airport, the longer he would have to wait—him rushing wouldn't rush the plane.

"A trip to where?" asked Tosh, not even glancing up from her computer screens.

"America," he answered curtly.

"America is a big place," said Gwen. "Where?"

"Miami," answered Ianto for him. Jack knew he should have bought those plane tickets himself. Of course, Ianto was just so much better at it.

"Miami?" asked Tosh, half-curious about their conversation and half-focused on whatever fascinating thing she was doing on her computers.

"A former Torchwood agent called from there," answered Ianto, the man with the answers. "I am assuming that has something to do with it."

"How do you know Maddie's an ex-Torchwood agent?" asked Jack, impressed and annoyed at the same time.

"I know everything, Sir."

Just at that moment, Owen emerged from the medical pit wearing his coat and carrying a suitcase.

"And where are you going, Owen Harper?" asked Gwen. This got Tosh to look up from her computer screens. It never ceased to amaze Jack how Tosh could completely ignore him—her boss—but the second that someone mentioned their doctor, she was suddenly paying rapt attention.

"I'm going to Miami," said Owen, smirking. He liked having more information than Gwen. Well, actually, Jack had told him practically nothing, but he still liked for Gwen to think that he knew more than her. Whenever she felt that she was being left out, she would purse her lips and get this hurt and angry look on her face. It made Owen want to laugh.

"Why are you taking Owen on vacation with you?" asked Tosh.

"It could make a man jealous," said Ianto off-handedly. Although he said it rather nonchalantly, Jack knew that his feelings were hurt but that he would rather be tarred and feathered than show them to the entire team.

Despite the worry he was feeling, Jack took the time to put a flirtatious grin on his face and tell his boyfriend, "You have nothing to worry about. It's not as if Owen would have me."

"Damn straight," said Owen forcefully.

"What's straight?" joked Jack. "My statement or you?" Before Owen could respond with his own witty comment, Jack told the team in all seriousness, "There is a slight weevil situation in Miami. We don't all need to go but I'm taking Owen since he's the king of the weevils."

… Jack was rudely snapped out of his musing by a finger poking him in the ribs. "What?" he asked peevishly.

"We should line up to get on the plane," said Owen, motioning towards the growing line of people going to Miami.

"Yeah," said Jack, grabbing his carry-on. This was going to be a long flight and he knew that he was going to have to fill Owen in the personal aspects of this case before they landed. He didn't want explanations to get in the way of doing their job and protecting his son.

TBC

If you liked it, please review.


	3. The Doctor's Patient

Disclaimer: I own neither "Burn Notice" nor "Torchwood" … unfortunately.

AN: This story takes place sometime in season 4 for "Burn Notice" and sometime in season 2 for "Torchwood," although there are some references to knowledge we gain in "Children of Earth."

Weevils in Miami

The Doctor's Patient

"He's getting worse," snapped Fiona anxiously. "Where is the cavalry?"

"They're coming; don't worry. Jack won't let us down," responded Madeleine, only half believing it herself. While she could never believe that Jack would ever intentionally let her down, she was worried that he wouldn't get there in time. Michael was deteriorating. He needed help now. It had been more than 12 hours since she had called Jack and, while she knew that it took time to fly from Cardiff to Miami, a part of her had been hoping that Jack would be in possession of some alien tech that would just magically transport him to Miami. But that wasn't the case and she was left to worry, smoke, and pace.

Lost in her worry, Madeleine jumped when she heard the fists pounding on her door. As quickly as she moved to the door, Fiona got there first. Madeleine gasped when the door opened; Jack looked exactly as he had when she had left. He was still even wearing that dumb coat. Did he not realize that he was in Miami? Their eyes met for a fraction of a moment before he looked away, pained to see what the years had done to her. Although everyone that Jack knew eventually grew old while he stayed young, it still affected him every time. He almost didn't want to look at Maddie because he was afraid that the way he saw her now would transplant his memories of her. He always wanted to remember her as the young agent who had a penchant for mini-skirts and shotguns.

"Where is he?" asked Fiona frantically, looking past Jack and only seeing the young doctor. "Where's Michael's father?" she asked, spinning around to look at Madeleine with accusatory eyes as if it were her fault that Michael had been hurt: Madeleine's world—Madeleine's fault.

"That's him," choked out Madeleine. Finally overcoming her paralysis, she rushed to the door and pulled him inside, past a shocked and confused Fiona. "He's sick," she nearly cried.

"Where is he?" asked Owen, pushing himself in front of Jack. Although he would never admit to it, he did so partially to protect his boss. He felt that it would be a good idea to keep these two from having too much contact.

"Who are you?" asked Madeleine, so coarsely that Owen felt himself shrink back in a flash of fear. This woman was imposing—damn imposing. When he had first seen her, he had trouble imagining this bleached-blond woman, well-past her youth, with the huge, clunky earrings as an agent. He suddenly realized that not only had this woman clearly been an agent, but she must have been a damned good one.

But he didn't have time for this. "I'm a doctor," he snapped.

Seeing the suspicious look in Maddie's eyes, Jack jumped in, "He's Torchwood's new doctor—much better than the last one."

Nodding her head curtly, Madeleine grabbed Owen's arm and dragged him into her bedroom, where Michael was lying unconscious on the bed. "He's a doctor," she said quickly, before Sam could even get a word out.

Grabbing Sam, she dragged him out of the room. She knew from experience that doctors worked better when people weren't hovering over them, asking irritating questions and wearing mournful expressions on their faces. If she wanted Michael to recover, she would need to give this doctor his space. Jack had vouched for the man and that was enough for Madeleine.

Madeleine, rather enjoying dragging people around, forced everyone into her living room. Once everyone was seated and anxiously grasping glasses of iced tea far too tightly, she allowed herself to look at Jack and really look at him. She had been wrong, he had changed. She noticed a few more lines on his face, very faint and very few, but lines nonetheless. He seemed a tad heavier, though he was still in good shape. The biggest change, however, was not physical. He just seemed older, wearier, sadder. While a part of her wanted to know what had happened to cause such changes, a larger part of her was afraid to ask. If she asked, they might speak to each other. If they spoke to each other, something might be reignited and she couldn't bear to have her old feelings for him flare up. She had made the decision years ago to move on and she would now have to live with that.

Seeing that no one else was going to break the awkward silence, Sam took it upon himself. "So, where is Mikey's dad?"

"I'm Michael's father," answered Jack, allowing himself to look at the other two people in the room for the first time. The man looked older than Michael was but Jack could tell by the laugh lines on the man's face that he was far more immature than he should be at his age. Despite this, the man was all seriousness now, not even letting his bright yellow, raucous, Hawaiian shirt overpower the intensity of his stare. The woman sitting next to him just looked miserable. She was a slight thing, probably not weighing more than 110 pounds while wet and it was clear from the redness in her face that she had been crying.

"You can't be," said Sam.

Before Jack could respond, Madeleine repeated what she had said to Fiona at the door: "That's him."

"But he's so young," said Fiona, turning to Madeleine and allowing a small smile to creep onto her face. "Madeleine, you didn't tell us that your Jack was a child when he attracted you with his 'pheromones.'"

"A child?" scoffed Sam. "Hell, Maddie, you didn't tell us that your Jack hadn't been born yet."

Jack laughed, "Let's just say I look good for my age." Off of their incredulous expressions, he continued, "I use moisturizer."

Madeleine unintentionally laughed so hard that she nearly dropped her newly-lit cigarette. Everything had been so emotional for the past day that she hadn't even realized how badly she needed to laugh. She had forgotten how funny Jack could be. He always knew just what to say to ease the tension in a room, whether by making a completely ridiculous comment, as he just had, or by making some horrible innuendoes that forced you to laugh in the hopes that everyone would think that blush on your face was just from laughing.

"So, how's Torchwood?" she asked, suddenly desiring small talk just so that she wouldn't have to think about her son, lying ill in the other room.

"Eh, fine," he answered, "whole new team than when you were there, but good people."

"Were you at Canary Wharf?" she asked.

Sobering immediately, Jack asked, "What do you know about that?"

"Not much," she answered, suddenly sensing that this was a forbidden topic and regretting having brought it up. Changing the subject, she asked, "Seeing anyone?" She knew that this was a safe topic. Jack was always seeing someone, usually quite a few someones and he loved to discuss his exploits in lavish detail.

Chuckling softly, having realized what the woman he had once loved was doing, Jack answered, "Yeah. G-d help me, I think I'm in love."

"That's nice," said Madeleine, more coldly than she meant to. She didn't know why that jealousy spiked up in her heart; she had left him. She just had to keep reminding herself: She had left him. It was for the best. She had left him. It was for the best.

Wanting to change the subject again, Jack turned to Michael's friends. Putting on his most charming smile, he asked, "And who would you two be?"

Sam immediately found himself uncomfortable. While the guy seemed nice enough and was apparently his best bud's dad, Sam couldn't shake the feeling that the man was undressing him with his eyes. "Sam Axe," he responded, leaning forward to shake Jack's hand, refusing to show his unease.

"Strong grip," remarked Jack casually, in a way that unnerved Sam even more. "You ex-military?"

"Navy SEALs."

"Nice," said Jack, before turning his eyes to the woman. Although he was not trying to woo the man, Jack was aware that everything he said and did oozed sexuality. It had gotten him into trouble more than once. If only he could learn how not to be the most attractive man on the planet. "And you are?"

"Fiona Glenanne," she responded, shaking his hand as Sam had, "formerly of the IRA."

"Nice," repeated Jack, truly impressed with the people that his son had surrounded himself with. Navy SEALs and IRA chicks—nice.

Knowing all about Jack's prodigious sex drive, Madeleine interjected, "She's Michael's girlfriend," despite the fact that Jack had claimed to be in love. Better safe than sorry in Madeleine's playbook. While she didn't think Jack would make a play for Fiona, she wanted to be sure. He had claimed to be in love with his wife while he had been undressing her in the archives.

Another awkward silence descended. Needing to do something with her hands, Fiona pulled out her favorite gun and set about cleaning it … again.

"Nice gun," commented Jack. "I've always been partial to a larger magazine though. The more bullets you can fire, the less time you have to take out of the fight to reload."

"Agreed," she said, allowing the feel of her gun to edge her anxiety away, bit by bit. "That's why this gun's modified."

The conversation went from there, discussing all kinds of weapons, from sharpened wooden sticks to rocket launchers. Everyone got involved and when Owen emerged from Madeleine's bedroom a few hours later, he found Jack and Fiona arguing with Madeleine and Sam. Madeleine and Sam were backing the use of close-combat weapons, citing the control that came with them and the ability to be close enough to the enemy to take in all the details of the situation. Jack and Fiona were on the side of things that went boom and caused massive amounts of destruction, saying that the further away you were, the safer you were. Oh, and fires are pretty.

"Ahem," fake-coughed Owen to get their attention. Despite the heatedness of the debate, they all immediately quieted down and looked at the doctor with fear and hope mixing on their faces. "He'll be fine," said Owen, not wanting to be one of those doctors that launched into a long series of medical mumbo-jumbo while the concerned family sat there not sure where you were going or if what you were saying was good or bad.

After that sank in, he continued, "He has an infection from the weevil bite. Luckily, I've seen it before and had the antibiotics with me that he needed. His fever has already started to go down and he is sleeping a natural sleep now, rather than lying passed out. He needs a good 12 hours of rest and then he should be fine.

"But, how can he be fine?" asked Fiona plaintively. "When someone is that sick, it takes longer than 12 hours to recover."

"Yes, when someone is sick with some typical-Earth illness," replied Owen, rolling his eyes. "This, however, is an alien illness, with an alien antibiotic and the best doctor on planet Earth, not to brag. I said he'll be fine. So, since I always know what I'm talking about, he'll be fine."

Jack just looked down and tried to suppress the smile covering his face. How very Owen. The good doctor was being a rude prig as usual. Jack couldn't care less about Owen's bedside manner so long as he did the job he was signed on to do. Jack's son would be fine and he knew that it was all thanks to Owen. He wouldn't have hired him if he hadn't thought he was the best. Besides, it was Owen's style. Some doctors give you a lollipop; Owen gives you an insult.

TBC

If you liked it, you know the drill: Please review.

AN: Bet some of you thought that Doctor Who was going to be in this chapter. Gotcha!


	4. Time Lost

Disclaimer: I own neither "Burn Notice" nor "Torchwood" … unfortunately.

AN: This story takes place sometime in season 4 for "Burn Notice" and sometime in season 2 for "Torchwood," although there are some references to knowledge we gain in "Children of Earth."

Weevils in Miami

Time Lost

"Well," said Jack, clapping his hands together, heartened by the news that his son would be fine. "I want to hear everything about what happened."

"OK," started Sam, settling himself into the couch, as if for a long story. "Long story short: This guy Randy Cawber hired us when this other guy, Johnnie Ellister, conned him out of boatloads of money. We went to Ellister's place for some recon before setting up our own con, you know, see what kind of operation he's running, and Mikey got attacked by that alien-thing."

After taking a brief moment to absorb the situation, Jack took charge. "I want to check out this guy's operation—like you guys were doing, but we'll be a little more careful.

"Shouldn't we wait for Mikey?" asked Sam.

"No," replied Fiona, shaking her head. "The longer we wait, the more money that bastard Ellister will spend—our client's money. You know what they say: time lost is money lost."

"No," disagreed Jack, "time lost is people lost. The longer we wait, the more people this Ellister guy sics his weevils on."

"Fine," capitulated Sam, not liking the idea of other people being brutalized by those things. "I'll drive us."

"I'm going to stay with my patient," interjected Owen, who was leaning back into the couch with his eyes closed. He was tired. First there had been that incredibly awkward plane conversation with Jack when all he had wanted to do was sleep. He was always curious about Jack's past and always said that he wanted to know more but, now that he did, he was missing being kept in the dark. Then they had landed in New York, but before they could even grab a bite to eat, they had boarded their connecting flight to Miami. He was looking forward to sleeping on that plane but Jack had wanted to talk even more. Owen couldn't help but think that it was some kind of punishment from G-d for being so nosey in the past. Then, before he knew what was happening, they were at Madeleine Weston's _charming_ home. No pleasantries there either—just go save Michael, not that he minded that. He was, after all, a doctor and that was, after all, why he was there. But some rest after all that would have been nice. So he just let himself relax into the couch as he completely tuned out the rest of the conversation, which went like this:

"Well, if the doc's not going, I'll go," said Madeleine.

"What?" Jack, Fiona, and Sam all squawked.

"I'm going," she repeated.

"But Maddie, it'll be dangerous with those … things," placated Sam.

"I don't care. I can be useful."

"Useful how?" asked Fiona, not unkindly.

"I was doing this kind of thing before you were born, honey."

"Exactly," interjected Jack. "'Before she was born.' When's the last time you did something like this?"

"Firing a gun is like riding a bike, Jack."

"Fine," said Jack, recognizing Madeleine's I'm-going-to-do-whatever-the-hell-I-please-whether-it-is-a-good-idea-or-not voice. "But it's your ass on the line. Don't expect us to pull you out of the fire."

"If I remember correctly, Jack, you're the one who needed to get his _ass_ pulled out of the _fire_," responded Madeleine, causing Jack to blush immensely. Jack was really happy that Owen was ignoring them because he really did not want to have to explain this. He still shuddered remembered the time when an alien had thrown him butt-first into an unlit furnace and he had become stuck. The furnace was on a timer and the entirety of Torchwood had spent time trying to pull his ass out of the soon-to-be fire. Some things were just meant to stay in the past. Jack followed the other three out of the house feeling rebuked and subdued.

Dark. Hot. Thirsty. Hungry. Ow. Sonuva-

These were the first things that crossed Michael's mind when he woke up.

Sitting up slowly, Michael tried to remember where he was and what had happened. Well, he knew where he was just from looking around; even with the minimal light in the room, he recognized his mom's guest bedroom. Now for the "what had happened." All he was getting were flashes: a warehouse—something really ugly—Fiona with bandages—Sam's car—sharp teeth—his mom on the phone.

His mom on the phone. That did the job. Michael remembered everything and he was furious. He could handle aliens and shadowy government agencies. He had seen plenty of weird stuff while on assignment in the Middle East—not alien weird, but weird nonetheless—and the CIA itself was a somewhat shadowy government agency. What Michael could not accept was the revelatory bombshell his mother had dropped on him about his father.

He was angry—not even particularly angry at his mother—jut angry. As he thought more and more about it, he felt his hands clench into fists. Ow. Looking down, he noticed for the first time the IV sticking out of his arm. It was connected to two bags; he assumed that the first was saline but the second was a luminescent green color that really discomfited him. A part of him wanted to rip the IV out, partially because he didn't relish the idea of an unknown substance being pumped into his veins but partially because he was angry and wanted to destroy something. Another part of him, however, knew that after being attacked by that alien, he should not be feeling as good as he was feeling and he instinctively knew that the odd bag of green liquid was responsible for that.

Michael turned sharply to the door as he heard the handle turn. Even that brief, slight movement made him feel dizzy.

A man he had never seen before walked into the room, a grim and weary look on his face. Due to years of CIA life, Michael was able to analyze the man in front of him in a few seconds:

~ In good shape, cautious, could handle himself in a fight

~ Intelligent, an export in a professional field of some kind

~ Carries himself stiffly despite a slouch, paramilitary

~ Face somewhat resembled a monkey, missing link?

"How are you feeling?" asked the man. Ah, a doctor … a British doctor.

"Fine," Michael responded, not really wanting to go into extreme detail with a man he didn't know, even if the man was a doctor. "Who are you?"

"Don't worry; I'm a doctor," said the doctor unhelpfully. "I came with your dad. You-"

"-My dad? He's here? Where?"

"He left a while ago with the others to check out Ellister's operation." Seeing the concerned look on Michael's face, Owen comforted him, "Don't worry. They'll be fine. Jack does this kind of thing all the time. Back to what I was saying though; the bite you got from that weevil became infected but I, the amazing doctor that I am, had the medicine you needed. You'll be fine."

Michael inadvertently rolled his eyes. "And I am still wondering who you are?" prompted Michael, irritated not so much with the doctor as with the situation.

"Your doctor," said Owen, without a glimmer of humor. If his patient was going to be an irritating jerk, he would be one as well.

After rolling his eyes again, Michael just stared at the doctor and the doctor just stared right back. Honestly, they were both just really tired and unfairly taking it out on each other. Finally realizing how childish he was behaving and how misplaced his frustrations were, Michael looked away first, wiping his hand across his face as if he were trying to wipe the aches and weariness away.

Seeing Michael be the bigger man, Owen sighed and felt somewhat bad for sinking to his patient's level. If only he hadn't been so damned tired. Owen stepped forward, offered Michael his hand, and said, "Dr. Owen Harper, Torchwood."

Taking his hand, Michael responded, "Michael Weston, but I guess you already knew that, seeing as how you're in my mother's house taking care of me. … And you apparently work with my fa- … the captain."

"Yeah," said Owen, nodding his head, his hands in his jean pockets, becoming the stereotypical image of an uncomfortable man. Although he pretended not to care for other people's emotions, he did understand them and he understood how emotional the next few days were going to be. Honestly, he felt bad for the man lying on the bed in front of him and could relate to him. As if finding out about aliens weren't traumatic enough, Owen had lost his fiancée the same day. Here Michael was, having just discovered aliens and, in a sense, having lost his father and his identity.

Picking up on Owen's discomfort, Michael joked, "I thought doctors were supposed to be the comfortable ones around sick people?"

"Yeah," said Owen, without missing a beat, "but I prefer it when my patients are unconscious … or dead."

"Dead?" asked Michael, quirking his eyebrow and suddenly finding this man companionable. Michael knew he was sick because had he been at his full health, he would not have been so wishy-washy with his emotions. "You can't be a very good doctor then if a lot of your patients are dead."

Owen shot him a withering glance but then snorted in laughter, enjoying the repartee. "Yeah, most of my work for Torchwood these days is as a medical examiner. I don't make the people dead, they're brought to me that way."

But my … the captain brought you along anyway?"

"Yeah, he thought I could be useful. And, oh look, I was," he said, gesturing to Michael and his IV. "There's some water on your bedside table, I suggest you drink it. I'd give you something else but I'm not really the domestic type and Jack left the Tea-Boy in Wales."

"What?" asked Michael, wondering if that would have made sense to him had he not been slightly delirious.

"Nothing," mumbled Owen, preparing to leave the room again and let his patient rest.

"Wait," exclaimed Michael, causing Owen, who was halfway through the door, to twist around and look at him. "Can you at least give me something to do? I'm bored."

"I know just the thing," said Owen with a grin.

This was why, when Jack, Madeleine, Sam, and Fiona returned a half hour later, they found Michael and Owen sitting on the bed playing Go Fish!

TBC

Please review if you liked it.


	5. Plans and Arguments

Disclaimer: I own neither "Burn Notice" nor "Torchwood" … unfortunately.

AN: This story takes place sometime in season 4 for "Burn Notice" and sometime in season 2 for "Torchwood," although there are some references to knowledge we gain in "Children of Earth."

Weevils in Miami

Plans and Arguments

Once Madeleine had finished fussing over Michael and they were all sitting comfortably in the living room, Owen turned to Jack and asked, "What did you find?"

"Well, this Ellister guy has 15 weevils on the payroll—big ones. He has about five or six guys keeping watch outside—they really suck at their job—and the weevils were inside," explained Jack.

"That doesn't make any sense," said Owen, shaking his head. "Weevils aren't like mercenaries. You can't just hire them."

"I don't think Ellister did," interjected Madeleine, between drags on her cigarette. "They had chains around their ankles. It's like when some bastard sics his Dobermans on you—you don't blame the Dobermans. It seems like he mistreats them."

"I don't know," said Jack. "He was in the same room as them and they were completely ignoring him."

"'Ignoring him' or obeying their master?" asked Sam.

"Weevils aren't that easily subdued," disagreed Owen. "He must be controlling them somehow, in some manner that goes beyond behavioral-modification exploits."

"Why?" asked Madeleine. Turning to Jack, she inquired, "What happened to those experiments Torchwood was conducting back in my day? The ones in London? Weren't those for weevil control?"

"What? What experiments?" yelled Owen.

Keeping his voice quiet, Jack told Madeleine, "Those experiments were shelved."

"Why haven't I heard anything about this?" asked an enraged Owen, getting into Jack's face. "I've been working with weevils for years. Why haven't I seen the records on this? Why didn't you ever tell me about it?"

Standing up to his full height, which is quite impressive, and getting right back into Owen's face, Jack said softly yet threateningly, "You didn't need to know. The project was a failure that resulted in the deaths of foolish Torchwood scientists. It was cruel and rash."

"You should've told me," continued Owen, more reservedly. "If for no other reason, you should have told me so that I would know what not to do."

"I already knew you wouldn't do what they had done, Owen," said Jack, smiling at him, showing that he wasn't truly angry at him.

"How did you know?" asked Owen.

"When I hired you, Owen, I hired you knowing that you would never do cruel experiments on living creatures like that," said Jack. "Had I even for a second thought that you would, I would have Retconed you and found someone else. You may be a dick, Owen, but you aren't an idiot."

"What were these experiments?" asked Fiona, not really sure that she even wanted to know.

"Torchwood was trying to train weevils to fight for them," explained Madeleine.

"Yeah," interjected an angry Jack. "They were trying to train them through torture, beatings, starvation—you name it, they did it. We don't do things like that at Torchwood anymore."

Looking to Owen, Michael finally joined the conversation, "But you said that you've been working with weevils. What does that mean?"

Sighing heavily, Owen responded, "I've been developing sprays to subdue them until we can remove them from human-populous areas. The sprays don't hurt them, just make them very sleepy. I have also been working with some chemicals to see if they can be programmed to follow simple orders, like 'Stay' or 'Sit.'"

"That doesn't sound much better than what your people used to do," said Fiona. Michael couldn't help but roll his eyes: When Fiona found a new cause, nothing would stop her from doing everything in her abilities to see it through to the end. Michael really hoped that weevils wouldn't be Fiona's newest cause; he didn't think he could handle that. Those things were far too dangerous and, if he were to be honest with himself, he didn't want anything to force him and Jack together. As Madeleine had fussed over him upon their return, he had felt Jack's eyes on him numerous times but every time he looked at Jack, Jack would drop his eyes and get very interested in the floor. The closest they had come to interaction was when Jack nodded at him when he had sat down. As curious as he was about this man, a part of him just wanted to focus on this case now and on getting back into the CIA in the long-run; he didn't need distractions.

Michael was somewhat forced to reconsider this opinion though with the next thing that Jack said. "Hey, my doctor doesn't experiment on living creatures. He uses chemicals or something with skin cells and petrie dishes and interactions."

"Don't help me, Jack," groaned Owen. Although he had done a lousy job defending his doctor, Jack had defended him anyway and Michael admired that. It reminded him of Fiona and Sam's constant faith in him. Clearly his father was a team-player and he respected that. Did he respect it enough to try to get to know the man? He really didn't know. "Fiona," continued Owen, "I have been synthesizing chemical compounds to place weevils into a hypnotic state where I would be able to suggest actions to them, like 'Move along.' The hypnotic state would not be permanent and it would not harm them. Like with humans and hypnotism, the weevil could not be forced to do something that it would not usually do."

Nodding her head in acceptance, Fiona asked, "And you think Ellister has something like this?"

"It's possible," admitted the somewhat frazzled doctor.

"Ok, well this is all interesting and stuff," interjected Sam, "but how do we kill them? We shot those things and they just kept coming."

"Guns do kill weevils," said Jack. "You just need really big bullets … and a lot of them."

"But we aren't going to kill them, are we?" asked a concerned Fiona. "I mean, if they are being controlled in some way to behave this way, they don't deserve to die for it."

"It's nice to care about them, honey," said Madeleine, "but it's them or us. I choose us. At Torchwood, we kill weevils because we know how dangerous they are. Michael almost died."

"But they didn't mean to do that," argued Fiona.

"Whether they meant to or not, they are dangerous," yelled Madeleine.

"Just because something is dangerous doesn't mean it needs to be killed. They can be rehabilitated."

"You want to try to rehabilitate a weevil—be my guest. Just make sure you stay away from its teeth; those can't be rehabilitated."

"If we can teach the weevils—"

"ENOUGH!" bellowed Jack. "Fiona, as much as I would love to save every weevil and give it a good life, we can't. These weevils have killed for Ellister. Here in the United States, if a dog attacks someone, whether it was forced to by its owner or not, that dog is put down—same thing with weevils. We just can't risk people getting hurt. Torchwood's number one concern is saving human lives. And Maddie," he continued, turning to his ex-girlfriend, "you don't work for Torchwood anymore. There is no more 'we.' We, meaning me, Owen, and a few others, do not operate the way Torchwood did in your time. Weevils are not killed unless it is absolutely necessary. You don't work for Torchwood anymore and you shouldn't speak for it."

"Hey," shouted Michael, getting to his feet. "Don't talk to my mom like that."

As touched as Madeleine was that her son was standing up for her, she knew that Jack was right. "Sit down and rest Michael," she said.

"I'm fine," Michael ground out, getting tired of the furtive looks that his mother and Fiona kept sending his way to assess if he was ill. Even the doctor was leaving him alone.

Turning back to Jack, Madeleine asked, "So, what do you suggest we do then?"

"Well, we can tranq' the human guards and then Owen and I can take out the weevils," answered Jack. "I'm sorry, Fiona, but we're going to have to kill them. We have no way to 'rehabilitate' them, like you want, and no way even to transport them to Cardiff to deal with them."

Fiona looked like she wanted to argue, but Michael jumped in before she could utter a syllable. Looking straight into Jack's eyes, Michael said evenly, "I agree with Jack, Fiona." Fiona shut her mouth with an audible click and turned her angry stare onto Michael. He could tell that this was something that she felt strongly about but she couldn't always get her way. He knew that there was just no way to spare the bloodthirsty creatures.

"Should I call in the rest of the team, Jack?" asked Owen. "You know: Gwen, Tosh, even Ianto?"

Without even really considering it, Jack replied in the negative; "they wouldn't have time to get here and I want to take care of this quickly."

"Well, in that case," asserted Michael quickly, "it looks like you'll be needing us as backup. Looks like we're going in with you to take care of the weevils."

"No, it's too dangerous," said Jack.

"Hey, buddy, we do dangerous stuff all the time," interjected Sam. "It's kind of our job."

"We help people—people like Cawber, who have lost all of their money to scum like Ellister," continued Fiona.

"We're going in with you, whether you like it or not," said Sam, finally standing like everyone else in the room and crossing his arms resolutely over his chest.

"Michael is still weak," argued Jack.

"I'm fine," Michael half-shouted half-whined, causing both Fiona and Madeleine to roll their eyes at him. "Ask the doctor."

"Well," said Owen, choosing his words carefully—he really didn't want to antagonize his boss—"Michael is physically recovered from his bout with the weevil but he may still want to take it easy."

"I'm going," stated Michael, signaling with his eyes that he would brook no arguments.

"We're all going," stated Madeleine, showing everyone present exactly where Michael had gotten his stubborn attitude.

"Well," said Jack, throwing up his hands in defeat before lowering them to grip his suspenders, "let's get planning."

TBC

If you liked it, please review.


	6. The Operation

Disclaimer: I own neither "Burn Notice" nor "Torchwood" … unfortunately.

AN: This story takes place sometime in season 4 for "Burn Notice" and sometime in season 2 for "Torchwood," although there are some references to knowledge we gain in "Children of Earth."

Weevils in Miami

The Operation

"OK, all of Ellister's human guards are on the lookout. It looks like they've been on high alert since our last run-in with them," said Fiona, slipping back into the empty warehouse where Jack, Owen, Sam, Michael, and Madeleine were waiting. Less than a block away from Ellister's place, the newly formed team was waiting for the cover of night to take out Ellister's operation.

Jack glanced over at Michael, reassessing his son's condition for what may have been the hundredth time. Although Owen had assured Jack that Michael was well enough to go on the op, Jack was still worried. He had tried to corner Michael to speak to him alone a few times in the hours that had passed since they had all planned tonight's actions; each time Jack tried to get Michael alone, something had come up and one of them had needed to go take care of something. Either Jack had to talk to his remaining team members in Cardiff or Michael had needed to retrieve some equipment. Shaking his head to banish away all thoughts not related to their current activities, Jack straightened up and said, "Let's go."

They spread out around the warehouse to take out the human guards. After realizing that Ellister had six humans on his payroll, Sam had said, "I love it when things work out like this." Six against six—they each needed to take out one guard. They were each armed with a tranq' gun, courtesy of Fiona, containing darts holding a mixture of a sedative and Retcon, courtesy of Owen.

"What happens to them afterwards?" Fiona had asked after Owen suggested the specialty tranquilizer darts.

"They forget everything the last six months since they started working for Ellister and go about their lives as normal," Jack had explained.

"Nu-uh," Fiona had objected. "They need to be punished for the things they've done. Erasing their memories won't keep them from doing it again."

"Fine," Jack had conceded. From there he had called Tosh and, using high-tech facial recognition software and illegal hacking, she had identified each of Ellister's men and been able to dig up some dirt on them. Unfortunately, being in Cardiff, that was all Tosh could do. Going off of the information that Tosh had provided, Sam had gone the extra mile and either found or forged some evidence that tied each man to a crime.

Laughing, Owen had informed Fiona that the men still wouldn't go to jail.

"What do you mean?" she had asked, quite proud of all the work that had gone into destroying these men.

"They're going to be missing a six-month chunk of memory and you think the police are going to send them to jail?" Owen had asked mockingly. "I have a feeling that they are going to get a prolonged stay in hospital long before jail."

Still chuckling, Owen took aim at his guy and pulled the trigger. When he became a doctor, he had done so in order to help people and keep them healthy but a part of him really loved seeing them drop. "Down," he barked into his comm. Once he heard five more "downs" through the comm, Owen darted forward and pinned the evidence that had been fabricated on this guy to the thug's cheap leather jacket. "Planted," said Owen, waiting for five more.

"OK, everyone," said Jack over the comms. "There are two doors. I'm going to go in the front way with Michael and Fiona. Sam, Maddie, and Owen, I want you guys to get the back."

Bursting in through the backdoors, Madeleine felt her adrenaline rush in a way that she had missed so much in the years since she left Torchwood. While she never regretted giving up that dangerous life for her family, she did still miss it and there was nothing like the feel of a rifle in your hands, a cigarette in your mouth, and the look of frightened surprise on some bastard's face. She had to give Ellister credit though, the prick moved quickly. Right after Jack shot the first weevil, Ellister pressed a button at his side and the chains around the weevils' ankles fell off.

"Get them! Kill them!" screamed Ellister. The weevils, who until that moment had been sitting docilely, attacked with such ferocity that even Owen, the king of the weevils, was afraid. It became a savage dance as the humans struggled to shoot the weevils fatally but were forced to twirl away whenever one got too close.

As Jack had warned, it took more than just a single bullet to kill a weevil. Had Sam not been so busy staying alive, he would have seen that the weevil coming at him already had three bullets in it. But Sam was busy staying alive, so all he could do was fire a fourth bullet into his attacker. The weevil fell to the ground, making a pitiful sound that was something between an angry roar and a cry of pain. Had Sam not be so busy staying alive, he would have felt somewhat badly for the weevil. But Sam was busy staying alive, so all he could do was try to avoid the teeth of another weevil.

Michael was impressed. He had always known his mother was a tough woman but he had never even imagined that she was Rambo. He just saw her take out a weevil—hell, she was doing better than he was. Granted, she had fought these things before, but still, he was flabbergasted. Despite his mother's killing prowess, Michael saw something that she didn't. While she was fighting the weevil in front of her, another was coming up behind her. Crap! He wouldn't be able to get there in time. He shouted "Mom!" but she couldn't hear him over the din.

Fortunately, Jack saw the same thing as Michael and was not too far away. Diving behind Madeleine, Jack took the full force of the weevil's attack. As the weevil's giant claws and teeth dug into Jack's neck and torso, he fired a full round into the creature's body, taking it down with him. Michael was about to run over when he was blindsided by another weevil. Refusing to be injured again, Michael turned all of his attention on his foe. When he turned back, neither Jack nor his mother were in sight.

Madeleine, having slain the alien in front of her, had spun around and bent down to pull the now-dead weevil off of Jack's corpse. Looking around, she saw that no one was watching them. She grabbed her former lover's body and dragged it behind a pile of crates; she was cursing herself for not remaining in shape all these years. Seeing him covered in blood and so pale cut Madeleine to her heart. Although she knew that Jack wouldn't stay dead long, it still hurt her to see her son's father look like this. She could still remember the first time she had seen Jack die. They had been fighting some nasty aliens back in the day and Jack had taken an energy blast from an alien weapon to save her life. She had been beyond distraught but then he had come back to life and she was just beyond angry that he hadn't told her about his immortality. In retrospect, she could understand why he hadn't liked to tell people: If you knew that nothing could kill your partner, you might not work to keep him safe in the same way that he worked to keep you safe. Although Jack couldn't stay dead, he could still die and it still hurt.

Shaking herself free of past memories, Madeleine left Jack where he was and rejoined the fray. She could see Sam off to the side holding his left arm, which was oozing blood. Michael's weevil-inflicted wounds from just the day before had opened up again and were steadily seeping blood through his shirt. Fiona and Owen were holding their own. Fiona reminded Madeleine a lot of herself when she had been a young agent at Torchwood—passionate, strong, and a tad nuts. There were only four weevils left and Madeleine jumped right in.

As much as Fiona felt sorry for how the weevils had been treated, actually fighting them, she understood what Jack had been saying to her earlier. These creatures were dangerous. They were trying to kill her and would kill others. Pushing aside any pity that she may feel for them, Fiona let all of her IRA combat training surge to the surface and she just focused on taking them out before they took her out. After killing her weevil, she looked around and saw that Michael, Madeleine, and Owen were each holding their own. Rushing to Sam's side, she began to apply pressure to his wound. Although he was covered in blood, it was clearly not a fatal injury and she just hoped that the doctor had some more of that medicine that he had given Michael.

Taking out his remaining weevil, Owen noticed some stairs leading down to the basement. Seeing that the others were alright, Owen cautiously descended the stairs into the darkness and astringent smell of rubbing alcohol below. When Owen flipped on the light, he was confronted with a laboratory that looked like it came straight out of some crappy Frankenstein movie. There were beakers full of nasty-looking liquids and a dead weevil lay on an autopsy table. This was clearly where Ellister had been manufacturing his weevil-controlling drug. Opening the filing cabinet, Owen was pleased to see complete records of everything the bastard had been doing. He would take these back to Torchwood and study them, see if he could cull any information from them to use in his projects.

Just as he was about to go back upstairs, Owen heard a faint scrabbling noise coming from behind a door. Gun held high and angry face on display, Owen pulled open the door, uncovering a nerdy-looking man cowering in the corner.

"Please don't hurt me," cried the man. "I didn't do anything. I didn't do anything."

"No?" asked Owen. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm just a scientist," cried the man. "I just work for him, I swear."

"Yeah," said Owen, "that's what I thought."

"I've never hurt anyone," the man continued to cry as Owen strode toward him. "I just experiment on the aliens. Please, don't hurt me. I never hurt anyone."

Owen stopped, clenching his jaw in anger. "Never hurt anyone? And what did you think Ellister was using your drug to do, huh? Teach the weevils ballet?" Rage was Owen's drug and sometimes it felt so good to give into it. He raised the gun, relishing the scientist's renewed gibbering, and shot the coward in the leg. Pulling on a faux innocent face, Owen said, "I never hurt anyone, I just shot an idiot."

"You shot me! Ah, you shot me!" the man cried, clutching his leg in pain.

"Oh, shut up," snapped Owen, grabbing the man to drag him upstairs.

Upstairs, Madeleine finished off her weevil and was glad to see that they were all now dead. Rushing to Michael, she let her worry bubble to the surface. Before she could begin fussing over her son, he looked beyond her and asked worriedly, "Sam?"

Looking over her shoulder, Madeleine saw Sam approaching, supported by Fiona. "Ah, I'm fine Mikey," he answered with false bravado. "It's just a scratch."

"Yeah," said Fiona sarcastically, "it's just a scratch that needs stitches."

"Where's Ellister?" asked a seriously pissed off Owen, joining them and dragging a bleeding and weeping man behind him.

"Don't worry; I got him," interjected Jack, pulling Ellister behind him. Ellister was limping slightly and grimacing with the pain that having his broken arm handcuffed behind his back was bringing him. "I caught him trying to make a run for it. Who's that?" he asked, nodding to Owen.

"His scientist," replied Owen. "Didn't get a name yet. There's time for that later."

Michael was just gaping at Jack, unable to believe his eyes. "You … you were dead," he gasped out. "That … that weevil … it got you."

"What are you talking about, Michael?" snapped out Madeleine. As much as Michael deserved to know the truth about his father, they didn't need to discuss it now. The others didn't need to know and their enemies surely didn't need to know. Also, if Owen didn't already know, Jack would not appreciate him finding out.

"I saw him get killed by a weevil," said Michael, very unsure of himself.

"Well, clearly you didn't," reasoned Owen. "You must still be unwell from yesterday."

Madeleine had to work hard to suppress the smile that was threatening to take over her face. So, the doctor did know and was helping to cover it up. "Clearly he's alright, Michael," she said, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket.

"Alright?" asked Fiona in a high voice, her Irish lilt coming out a little bit. "He's covered in blood and his clothing are in shreds."

"I'm fine," repeated Jack, irritation edging into his voice.

"What's going to happen with these two?" asked Madeleine, pointing to the bad guys and effectively changing the subject.

"You guys should go home and Owen and I will take them for a ride," answered Jack.

"You're going to kill them?" asked Michael, pushing his previous confusion aside for the indignation he felt now. Owen also looked to Jack, unable to believe that Jack would say that.

Feeling deeply insulted that his son and his doctor would think that, Jack responded in a somewhat high-pitched voice, "What? You thought I meant we were going to kill them? No! Owen, we're handing them over to UNIT. UNIT has the facilities to lock them up and make sure they can't do something like this again. I've been in touch with a UNIT agent I know. G-d! How many times do I have to say that Torchwood doesn't do stuff like that anymore?"

TBC

Just one more chapter! If you liked it, please review.


	7. Hello and Goodbye

Disclaimer: I own neither "Burn Notice" nor "Torchwood" … unfortunately.

AN: This story takes place sometime in season 4 for "Burn Notice" and sometime in season 2 for "Torchwood," although there are some references to knowledge we gain in "Children of Earth."

Weevils in Miami

Hello and Goodbye

Michael took a long drink from his beer and focused diligently on a spider crawling across his mother's porch. His father was leaning across the opposite railing, having an equally difficult time making conversation. After Jack and Owen had returned from their drop-off with UNIT, Owen had patched up everyone's injuries while making little clucking noises with his tongue, much to Sam's irritation. During the entire thing, Madeleine had continuously looked worriedly between Jack and Michael. She clearly wanted them to talk but did not want to force them into it.

"So …" began Jack, unsure of how to continue. His relationship with Alice was incredibly strained and he couldn't blame her. He knew how difficult it was for her. He didn't want to pursue a relationship with Michael that would just end with Michael pushing him away in the same manner as Alice. He didn't like hurting his kids.

"So …" responded Michael, feeling how nervous his father was and feeling the exact same way. He had lived his entire life without Jack, why did he need him now? While a part of him wanted to get to know this man in front of him, a part of him just didn't think it would be the right thing to do. He knew how difficult his life in the CIA had been for his mother. She had constantly had to worry about him, not knowing where he was, what he was doing, or when she would speak to him again. He didn't want to put someone else through that, because he did plan to get his job with the CIA back someday soon.

"Look," said Jack, putting down his beer and just getting to it. "Neither of us is really looking for anything, right? It's just nice to finally meet you and have you meet me."

"Yeah," replied Michael.

"And I don't want to start off this … whatever this is … with a lie. I died."

"What?" asked Michael, finally taking his eyes off of the ground and making eye contact with Jack.

"Back in that warehouse. That weevil attacked me and I died. You're my son and you should know: I'm immortal."

"What exactly does that mean?"

"As far as I know, nothing can kill me … permanently. I've died tons of times, but I always come back."

"Huh," said Michael, nodding his head slowly in an attempt to absorb this odd information. Well, if aliens were real and his mother used to fight them and his _real_ father does fight them, anything could happen. "Does Mom know?"

"Yeah, Maddie knows," said Jack, smiling softly. "Look, I just thought you should know. I would appreciate it if you didn't tell the others though. It isn't really something that I want to get around."

"Yeah, sure. I can understand that. I wouldn't want people to know if I were invincible either."

"No," agreed Jack, chuckling softly.

"Anything else I should know?" asked Michael.

Yeah, thought Jack, but he didn't say it. There was a lot. He's more than 100 years old. He's from the 51st century, which Maddie didn't even know. He's omni-sexual and currently dating a Welsh man named Ianto. "Nope, nothing else that I can think of."

"Well, I know that you're Torchwood," said Michael. "I guess it's only fair for you to know that I'm CIA, or ex-CIA at the moment. I plan to get back in though."

"Good for you. Be careful."

"I always am."

"If you ever need any help or come across anything really weird, you can always call me," Jack told him, hoping that his son would realize how serious he was.

"Yeah," said Michael, "and if you're ever in Miami again, let me know. Maybe we could … do something."

"Definitely," said Jack. "Ditto for you if you're ever in Cardiff."

BURNTORCHWOODNOTICE

Jack had loved seeing Maddie again and finally getting to meet Michael, but he was glad to be back in Cardiff. Entering the Hub with Owen following closely behind him, Jack called loudly and joyously, "We're back."

"Welcome back, Sir," said Ianto, from behind him. Jack resisted the urge to jump at Ianto's sudden presence; he could never let the other man know how startled he was every time Ianto did that.

"Boy did I miss you," said Jack, grabbing Ianto and giving him a deep, passionate kiss.

Their kiss was broken up, however, when Gwen interrupted it. "You guys are back? You took care of the weevil situation?" she asked.

"Obviously," sneered Owen.

"Did you two have any fun in Miami?" asked Tosh. Although her question had included Jack, she only had eyes for the doctor.

"Eh, it was all work," replied Owen. "Although," he added, looking at Gwen, "we did do some socializing with some old friends of Jack's. Oh, you should have heard some of the stories they told. That was brilliant."

"What stories?" asked Gwen, looking incredibly hurt that she hadn't been invited to go to Miami with them and therefore didn't know these new stories. As much as Jack wanted his team members to get along, he wasn't going to ruin Owen's fun. He knew only too well that "What stories?" was a valid question to which Owen would have honestly replied, "No stories. I'm messing with you."

"As fun as it has been catching up, I think I need to get reacquainted with Ianto." With that, Jack maneuvered Ianto into his office. As he was closing the door, he burst into laughter hearing Owen sing a rousing rendition of "I know something you don't know" to Gwen.

BURNTORCHWOODNOTICE

It had been two weeks since Jack and Owen had left Miami and things had mainly returned to normal. Michael, Sam, and Fiona, however, found themselves looking at Madeleine with a newfound respect.

Michael had considered calling Nate and telling him that they were only half-brothers, but eventually decided not to. It would only upset Nate and it didn't really change anything between them. They were still brothers and always would be, just as the man who had raised him was still his father. Whether biologically or not, the man who had given Michael the name of Westen was still his father and always would be.

Since the Torchwood agents had left, Michael had spoken to Jack once via telephone. Jack had called to see how everyone's wounds were doing. It had been a short conversation but Michael had still appreciated it. He could be a man of few words and he had no problem with Jack being one as well.

Madeleine was simply thrilled by how the visit had gone. She felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders; she had always felt guilty for lying to Michael. Although he was still trying to get used to the idea, Michael had already asked her several questions about his father. Madeleine hadn't been able to answer all of them, but she gave Michael the best answers that she could.

Additionally, since her son and his friends had found out how bad-ass she was, they had been including her more on their jobs. While she didn't relish working with them, she preferred being able to keep an eye on Michael; G-d knew he needed it.

Putting down the picture Jack had given her of the two of them when she was a new agent, Madeleine grabbed her shotgun and followed Michael out the door.

NOT TBC

Th-th-that's all folks! If you liked it, please let me know.


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